


Wolf in the Dark (fic)

by ARTofOTK



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Discipline, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Punishment, Self-Hatred, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARTofOTK/pseuds/ARTofOTK
Summary: Bucky's mind has been freed of Hydra's programming but memories from his dark past remain to haunt him... He allows the guilt to eat at him, wanting to suffer, wanting to be... punished... but he far from expects T'Challa's form of punishment! (The first two chapters can be read as platonic/non-sexual between Bucky and T'Challa, and they will wrap up the whole spanking scene. As for the third chapter... I'm going to give "WinterPanther" a shot!)***If you're not into spanking discipline stories, this ain't for you!***





	Wolf in the Dark (fic)

I hadn't heard anyone approach my hut before the hanging fabric at the entrance was suddenly parted. Golden light pooled across the dirt floor inside and revealed the silhouette of a tall figure, a man. I leapt up from my bed, prepared to attack, but then just as quickly pulled back in surprise when I recognized who it was... T'Challa.

The Black Panther - the fucking _King_ of Wakanda was in my hut! The last time I'd seen him was several months ago, before my treatment went ahead. Even after being woken up from that cryogenic chamber (so I could be an active participant in a ton of tests) he never visited me in the medical facilities. Not that I had _wanted_ him to visit me... I could guess how damn busy a King had to be.

Actually, part of me was glad he didn't show up. If I was really honest to myself, I could admit that T'challa's presence put me on edge. He didn't _scare_ me, but he definitely made me feel pretty timid. Even though the man had apologized for trying to kill me, flashbacks to that intense chase and those razor sharp claws still sent shivers up my spine... Okay, I guess he did scare me a bit.

But I held no grudge against him. I wasn't pissed that he hadn't believed I was framed for his father's death. How could I blame him or _anyone_ for thinking I did what I did best?

Murder people.

The former Wakandan ruler would've just been one more number to my horrific tally of victims.

When my brain was being purged of whatever reacted to that list of triggering words, I had selfishly hoped that my memories of all that had happened with Hydra would go away too... but those terrified faces, the sickening noises, their bloody and broken bodies... they were as clear as ever.

I accepted that I _deserved_ to remember! To have nightmares! To be in pain! I - I deserved to -

"Good morning, White Wolf. My sister tells me that your recovery has gone very well, although you seem stressed at the moment. I apologize if you were startled by my arrival. I should have made my steps less stealthy, hm? Please, sit down."

I realized that I was standing too stiff, fist clenched in almost a fighting stance, and I wondered if my face looked as disturbed as my thoughts were. I really hoped not. Here was the man who allowed me sanctuary in this amazing country and let my fucked-up head be _un-_fucked, but I wasn't acting very grateful. Or sane! _Shit... _I needed to get a hold of myself!

I smiled, saying, "Oh, uh, don't worry about it..." then sat down on the edge of my bed with my hands on my thighs before adding, "Good morning, er, Your Majesty..." to which T'Challa barked out a laugh.

Great. Now I felt timid _and_ awkward.

"My Father may have appreciated that title, but it's not my style. Please call me T'Challa."

"Yeah, sorry, I get it... I get called names I don't like either." Like Winter Soldier or The Asset, though those were mostly from reports and articles I'd read... and I didn't much like when others used Sergeant Barnes on me either. I understood it was out of respect, but that man was who I _used_ to be... a long, long time ago.

"Hm, do those include White Wolf?" T'Challa asked.

"No," I quickly replied, "I don't mind that... I - I like it."

Everyone was calling me White Wolf these days. While my fellow fugitives were always on the move and covering their trails,_ I_ had to stay in place... so it had been decided that I should be given a new alias to avoid any news spreading of my presence in Wakanda. The new alias helped make it safer for Steve to receive updates on me. No level of security or method of communication could be trusted when we still weren't sure whether Stark was a friend or foe. T'Challa was still believed to support the United Nations against those Avengers who refused to sign the accords, and it would just be best to keep it that way. I had to be kept a secret.

Shuri had joked that I should be called "White Boy"... then when that was pointed out to be more of a clue than a cover, she had said, "White _puppy_, then! To go with his sweet face, and those eyes!"

I had blushed at the tease, not sure whether she meant I looked sad or cute - or like I was craving something? Then T'Challa had suddenly declared, "He'll be called White Wolf," before looking directly at me, asking, "Is that fine with you... White Wolf?" Without requesting his reasoning, I had nodded. I still preferred _Bucky _but one of my favorite novels as a kid had been "White Fang". So, no, I didn't mind the new alias at all. Twelve year old me would've _loved_ it.

Now, in my hut, after assuring T'Challa that I liked _his_ name for me, he smiled and said, "I am glad." I found myself feeling a little more at ease now, less intimidated by him. It helped that he wasn't wearing his usual regal-looking garb. He was shirtless, wearing patterned shorts with some ornate beading, plus a pair of dark sandals. He was definitely well-muscled, but he just seemed smaller than I'd considered him before, under-dressed like this.

I also directed my attention to a small clay bowl in his hand, containing a clear liquid... "What's that?" I asked, hoping it was something tasty to drink. Not that I would say so to the kids who delivered my meals, but I was getting sort of sick of chugging goat's milk every day.

T'Challa set it down on the small table near my cot. It was more like a jelly than a liquid, actually, since it didn't slosh around. "It is a healing ointment made from our native Aloe plant, combined with a small amount of mint for a cooling effect. My sister feared you may have suffered sunburns in these past couple days. You've been kept indoors for many months and our climate here is likely not what your skin is accustomed to... but I see that you are still quite pale. Are you not feeling well enough to venture outside? Walk to the water?"

He was wearing a frown now, the skin creased between his brows. I looked away, unable to stand the concern in his expression... and I also felt some shame. I did promise Shuri that I wouldn't become a hermit out here.

It had been my request to be moved into one of these huts away from the city rather than a room in the Palace, which was offered earlier. After everyone (including myself) was one-hundred percent positive that my mind had been successfully de-programmed, I told her I wanted to experience a more natural environment and to interact with people other than the doctors and scientists who'd been poking in my head.

I was bullshitting but she bought it like I'd been pretty sure she would. Everyone liked to believe that some fresh air and social interaction was good for you. I believed that too, actually, but I didn't deserve "good"... Why should I be allowed to enjoy life when I'd taken those opportunities away from so many others? I just wanted to lay here, alone, and then maybe I would _rot_ like them...

These thoughts stayed stirring in my head when T'Challa said, "Come along with me, White Wolf. I planned to go for a swim. You'll enjoy the water, I'm sure."

That explained his outfit. "Nah, no thanks. I don't really feel like going out today."

T'Challa leaned back against the bare wall across from me and crossed his arms, giving me an obvious once-over before saying, "If you are feeling unwell, I should alert my sister. We must make sure your treatment hasn't resulted in any negative symptoms that would threaten your recovery."

I shook my head, "No, no! That won't be necessary! I'm not sick, I promise... I just want to sleep some more."

"Oh? Did you not rest well during your few nights here? I can arrange for a better bed to be brought in, with a mattress that caters to the contours of your body... for now, though, I insist that you come outside. You may like to rest under the shade, though the sun feels marvelous this time of day."

He was getting on my nerves now. Why couldn't he just leave me be? I tried sounding more firm, "No, thank you, T'Challa. Maybe tomorrow."

T'Challa was silent for a moment. I held my breath, hoping he'd just nod his head and_ leave_... but then he spoke, "Please, come outside, White Wolf. It is no good for you to stay inside like this. It is too... _dark_ in here..."

He sounded too soft - too gentle - too _caring!_ And I lost it!

"You want me to enjoy the damn sunshine? I'm a fucking _murderer!_ I - I should be kept in the dark, locked up!" Ignoring all rational thought, I picked up one of my empty plates and flung it at T'Challa, who neatly side-stepped so that it shattered against the wall. I should've been shocked I had thrown it, but I was just pissed that I had missed. I growled and shouted, "Get out!" then picked up an empty cup to try again, but my grip was too strong and it cracked into pieces. A couple sharp edges cut my hand and the unexpected sting curbed my rage. While watching blood trickle out from my fist, I was filled with a growing sense of horror... What the_ hell_ was I doing!

"Oh... oh _God,_ I'm sorry... I'm _so_ sorry... T'Challa, you - you - you should _punish_ me, please... I deserve to be punished! I - I ain't no wolf... I'm just a filthy rabid mutt that no one should bother taking care of!" I kept my eyes on my bleeding hand as I reached toward one of the larger broken pieces, whispering to myself, "I should be _put down_..."

"STOP!" The loud command prompted me to turn my eyes to T'Challa, and he looked livid as he marched toward me, raising his hands. Was he gonna punch me? He certainly had the right to... and I welcomed it. I hoped it would hurt. I hoped he kept going until my whole body bled along with my hand.

To fight the natural urge to defend myself, I shut my eyes and relaxed my muscles. Not a second later, I felt myself being grabbed around the shoulders and pulled up from my bed before being moved to stand a few feet away from it. "Don't move, White Wolf," said T'Challa, sounding stern.

The trained soldier in me was coming out under this stricter side of T'Challa and I responded with, "I won't, Sir."

I waited for him to strike me with my eyes still closed, but then several seconds passed of nothing and I looked to see T'Challa's back toward me. Shamed pooled in my gut when I realized that he was cleaning up my mess. I watched him roll up the blanket that had caught the broken pieces of my cup, containing them before moving the bundle aside. Then he turned and sat down on the edge of my bed, right in the middle where I'd been previously. His legs were spread and his back straight as he made eye contact with me, expression displeased, then he beckoned me over with his hand.

"What are you - ?" I began, but T'Challa interjected.

"Do not question me, White Wolf. _Come._"

I stepped toward him, unwilling to disobey... unwilling to fear for myself at this point.

As soon as I was close enough, he grabbed my arm and held up my hand for inspection. "The cuts are shallow," he said, "but... you wish they were deeper, hm?"  
  
My eyes went wide at the accusation. I couldn't deny it, but I wasn't really sure how to reply.

T'Challa left it alone, going on to ask, "Do you feel you should be punished for attacking me?"

I nodded. _Yes..._ for that and _so much more_...

"And you are open to _me_ punishing you? _Hurting_ you?"

_Please... _I nodded again.

Then T'Challa released my arm and said, "I will prepare you for punishment."

Before I could wonder what exactly he meant, I was yanked down and over his left thigh. My right arm (my _only_ arm) was recaptured by the wrist and pinned behind my back. Without squeezing too tight, T'Challa simultaneously held it in place while exerting downward force between my shoulders. My upper torso was supported near the head of my bed but my legs angled down to the ground, restricted between T'Challa's legs. He had hooked his right shin behind my knees.

_What the hell!_

This was a position I remembered from my blurry past. I'd gone over a few laps for being a brat... but T'Challa couldn't seriously be thinking of doing _that! _That would be_ crazy! _I seriously couldn't imagine it despite where I was... but then the woven wrap I wore was suddenly bunched up to my hips, and my underwear was tugged down past my ass to my thighs. At that point, I thought, yeah... okay... maybe T'Challa wanted to actually _spank_ me!

But that didn't mean I'd give him the chance.

I tried bucking off, hard as I could, but turns out a one-armed out-of-practice super soldier was a cruddy match for the Black Panther. He let me tire myself out, and I got to huffing and sweating over his lap before he actually said anything.

"Why fight me?" T'Challa asked, sounding calm and a little smug. "I thought you were prepared for punishment... which I am offering to provide. To your backside."

"Not - not like _that!_ No... no _way._.." I twisted my neck and shoulders around, frantically trying to get a look at T'Challa, to see his face. Maybe I'd be able to tell if he was joking... He _had_ to be joking for Christ's sake!

T'Challa helpfully leaned over so that we could make eye-contact. Looking worryingly _serious_, he said_, _"Rarely do the guilty get to choose how they're punished, or is there such an allowance in your United States?"

Even freaking out as I was, I let out a snort. "Come on! You're talking about a _spanking!_ Kids get spanked and I ain't no goddamn kid!"

T'Challa hummed then said, "Well, I cannot fault your thinking, White Wolf, but please allow me a moment to demonstrate, and then... " he rested his hand on my right ass cheek before continuing, "- then I hope you will feel _well_ assured that I would never discipline a child this same way. Brace yourself... "

I sensed the threat of a lot of pain, but I was so much more concerned with my absolute embarrassment in this ridiculous situation. "Let me go!" I hated the whine in my voice, hated how weak I felt as my feet kicked ineffectively. "Let me go _now_, you son of a - !"

The next word caught in my throat, my breath literally taken away by the force of T'Challa's first strike on my bare ass.

_Oh. Oh fuck..._

~TBC~

**Author's Note:**

> I need to start finishing existing stories and requests, but not today! lol This is based on a prompt I shared a long time ago over at LiveJournal's "spanking-world" community, and I decided to try filling it myself. Sorry it's a short start, and mostly build-up... The second chapter shouldn't take too long, though I might delay it to include a drawing... I have a good idea of where things are going but am open to suggestions! :) Thank you for any thoughts/critiques! ❤


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